I don't own Doctor Who, etc, etc. Yeah, disclaimer.
Tara awoke to a bright room and a groggy feeling. She had not slept well through the night, constantly finding herself half-awake again through her nightmares or the pounding of her dog's vigorous paws upon her door. Light streamed into her bedroom, casting a glow over the various science fiction and fantasy posters adorning her walls, the forgotten and half-complete sculptures and drawings littering her desk and floor, the malformed mass of blankets and pillows spread across the floor and an ancient frame of wood, metal and mattress on the brink of collapsing onto itself that was her alleged bed. The sun stung her eyes before she even bothered to open them. As she struggled to stagger into awareness, she glanced at her clock, an ever-changing mass of lights and colour, its purpose unapparent to the casual observer.
It was 7:18. Tara hadn't even slept five hours. No wonder she felt more cranky than usual.
At first, she considered trying to fall back asleep. Then she was hit by a feeling of hunger.
She rose from the place she slept the previous night, sprawled across the floor and the so-called 'bed' that she was sure qualified as a safety hazard, with no grace nor dignity. No-one in her house, besides she herself and perhaps the dog, would be awake so early on a weekend. More often, she would sleep in until noon was long-gone, though today she was too famished to fall asleep once more.
Tara stumbled into the kitchen, still half-asleep. She reached into the cupboards and fridge, grabbing a bowl, milk and a box of Cheerios. As she made herself breakfast, she caught a glance of the Christmas tree and the pile of presents beneath it. A realization came to her.
It was Christmas Day.
Tara lost her hunger in excitement. She scrambled toward the gifts, nearly losing her footing along the way. She tore the wrapping paper off the presents, one by one, and among her presents she found: an easel, plasticine, an iTunes gift card for fifty dollars, a lamp in the shape of a chameleon that mimicked the colour of whatever was beneath it, four video games, a plush Chestburster, a glass shaped like a barrel of toxic waste, an umbrella covered in blue lights, a small touch-screen monitor and transparent speakers. She had reached the last present, packed in a box reminiscent of a pen or bracelet. The packaging was a creamy white and rough in texture. A beige design adorned the top of it, a complex drawing filled with curves, dots and circles. No words were found anywhere along it, not even a company name.
Inside the box, suspended in midair, was a thin object not much larger than an ordinary pen. It was made of a metal reminiscent of a storm-cloud. A stripe, coloured grey with a faint luminescence to to it, ran down its side, ending with a small globe at the base as if there was nearly too much water inside of a cup and it would spill out if even one more drop entered. At the other end of the object, there was a curve, a stretched oval ending in a point, divided into six as if meant to split apart. Ten indents could be found along the object, circling the radius. One indent was twice as large and closer to the pointed end of the object, with a button-like circle visible within it, the stripe passing through the indent unaligned with the rest of it.
Tara had no idea what it was, nothing but a fascination with it and a voice somewhere in the recesses of her mind, quieted by wonderment, saying, But how the hell is that even possible?
It had taken her minutes to even reach out and touch the pen-like object. When she did, it had moved away from her touch, as any object that abides by the laws of physics would, but as she took away her hand it snapped back to its original position. Cautious, she took it from its box.
The stripe along the side lost its faint glow, though the button within the first indent began to pulsate as Tara held the object. A weak presence in her mind, one she knew was not her own, suggested she slide the indent into alignment with the stripe. So she did.
The pointed tip of the object splayed open, revealing six petals of steel. A sphere of energy formed within the opened tip. The stripe began to glow a white that made the snow outside pale in comparison (not that it was very clean snow in the first place), and soon after cycled through vibrant colours, switching to the next before even a second could pass. Deep blues, lush greens, vivid yellows, bold reds, luxurious purples would flash by until finally, it stopped on deep saffron.
Try pointing at the TV and pressing the button, the presence in Tara's head said.
She looked down at the glowing object. The only thing she knew about it was that it was no ordinary pen. Hesitant, Tara pointed her new whatever-it-was at the television, pressing the button.
The tip of the object extended at the button was pressed, but that was not something Tara immediately noticed. Instead, she saw that it had turned on her television.
Okay, so it's a fancy TV remote with a box that defies physics, the rational part of her thought.
Maybe it's a… the geeky part of her started to think. It never got the chance to finish as Tara was overcome with a wishful, childish excitement, testing her idea.
She pointed the object at the Christmas tree lights. They flickered off.
She kept pressing the button. On, off, on, off, blinking on and off, fading in and out, syncopating their fading. It had not taken her long to be sure that her theory was true.
Tara had been given a Sonic Screwdriver for Christmas.
From that point, she had a very good day.